I am nursing a cup of tea this morning when HH scuffs across the living room.
He is wearing post-shower trackies, because naturally one could die of frostbite with all heaters running full tilt, and as you all know, he refuses to wear his bathrobe. Due to its immense weight and size, his bathrobe hangs from a sturdy hook on the back of the study door where, according to HH, it is undoubtedly riddled with spiders. Hey, I dust occasionally, and I’m fairly certain there is no cause for him to get all arachnophobic over his robe, but there you have it. And dying of frostbite is patently impossible since our home on any given day is roughly the temperature of your average pizza oven.
He casts a doleful glance in my direction, clearly saddened by the fact I am curled up like a cat on the sofa cushions watching the news. I smile over the rim of my cup. “You alright, babe?”
He groans and flings himself across the sofa, landing with his head in my lap and narrowly avoiding a facefull of tea. He covers his face with his arm, as maudlin as any silent movie star. “Why?” he asks, “Why do I have to go to work?”
“Poor baby,” I say, stroking his hair.
“Why can’t they just keep making direct deposits into my account and leave me alone?”
“I know. It’s just so unfair that work has to get in the way of your REAL life…”
He is quiet for a minute. Then, out of nowhere he says, “I need a clone to send to work.”
Remembering our favourite Calvin and Hobbes comic, I laughingly agree. “You need a duplicator!” I say.
“Zackly.”
“I’ll get the box, you get the magic marker. We can set it up right here in the living room…”
“That sounds perfect,” he says, snuggling deeper into my fluffy pink robe. “It would be so easy,” he says. “All I’d have to do is teach him not to talk to anybody and to eat his lunch at his desk…no one would know the difference.”
I chuckle and carry on stroking his hair, knowing full well that if there were two of him, the sofa would be mighty crowded this morning.
Poor HH… sometimes life is just so unfair.
Mother Hen
- feature photo: Shutterstock
- calvin & hobbes 1: evilgeek.com
- calvin & hobbes 2: teamliquid.net
© motherhendiaries 2015, all rights reserved.
Categories: humor
Mother Hen Diaries 
Ah if the spiders are from Mars, I can understand! As you know men are from Mar and women are from who the hell knows where!
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Haha!! I am almost 100% sure there are no Martian spiders in this house, so I reckon he’s safe. Probably. =-O
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Oh! Oh! A duplicator! It’s exactly what I need. I’d duplicate an army of Gregs. One platoon could be in charge of litter boxes and dog doo, another could handle putting up shelves and cleaning the shed. Where do I get one? Heck, where would I get a dozen of them?
Er…how much do they cost?
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Hahaha!!!! They are easy enough to make… Calvin developed one combining transmografication and photocopying. Very advanced stuff, really. One magic marker, a large box, a stuffed tiger and plenty of imagination should pretty much do it for you. Just make sure you give the little woman plenty of warning about how many of you will be coming to dinner. (Is the world ready for an army of Gregs?)
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Gotta love Calvin and Hobbes.
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Between Calvin and The Far Side, i am in cartoon heaven. 🙂
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What a super cool idea! I think we would all like to clone ourselves via a duplicator BUT believe the parameters would have to be very very specific otherwise our ‘other self’ may go off and do some really weird stuff. Thanks for the smile though; now it’s off to see how I can set up my own duplicator. Wish me luck! 😀
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Haha!!! How right you are! And then with dna testing, what if one of my other selves committed a crime??? Gaaaaaaa! 🙂 🙂 🙂 let me know how you get on….
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LOL – will do!
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I’m really enjoying this little Pillow Talk series.
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Thanks, Dan… another one will be up in a little while. HH says the funniest things, bless him… 🙂
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